


Bleeding, Burning, Beautiful

by Laerkstrein



Category: Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Horror, Murder, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerkstrein/pseuds/Laerkstrein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in death, she was still his and she was still beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding, Burning, Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://niger-ut-niveus.livejournal.com/42713.html) on my LJ comm on 07.14.11.

Lies are a terrible thing. They distort the world as it's known, bringing ruin and corruption.

Had she not lied to him, perhaps he would have considered thwarting his own plan.

She was delusional, starstruck with the idea that they could be together. A fantasy that he wanted no part of. After what had been done to him, the damage that had left all those cracks in his perception of himself, there could be no healing. Everything dear had been taken in an instant, leaving him beaten and broken, just another face in the dark streets of London. He had been rendered useless, just another vindictive soul that fell in with the rest of the shadows, no light in his life worth holding onto. No reason to save what little was left.

The judge had left him to die, to bleed and rot for a crime he did not commit. A fictitious crime that, still, was unknown to him, the victim of such an injustice. But those days in the darkened dungeon had not been wasted. No, he'd worked his fingers to the bone, plotting out the demise of the man to whom went the "spoils of war." He imagined that he wouldn't have minded quite so much if said spoils hadn't been his precious Lucy.

This woman, this witch, had her hands all over him, her voice spinning a web that only she could appreciate. One wherein he belonged to her. He hated it, listening to her drone on about a life that only she could love. There had never been any reason for him to indulge her, as she had never been anything more to him than an accomplice. But Mrs. Lovett, being as foolish as the rest of his victims, couldn't see that.

As such, he spun her into the fire, having easily thrown the wool over her eyes. Her cries fell upon deaf ears, the cracking of the flame nothing more than a dull roar. She was disposable, he'd decided. She  _deserved_ to die, as he'd once told her. For so long, she'd lied to him, putting up barriers with which to keep him and Lucy apart.

"We all deserve to die," he whispered. "Even you, Mrs. Lovett; even I."

Now, he was faced with that bitter taste again, another injustice having been cast upon him. Truly, the fates did not favor him, a once good an honest man. Perhaps it was his sins that had brought this judgment upon him, throwing the dreaded irony into his face. She'd been alive all along, the lunatic who wandered the streets, damaged by arsenic poisoning and despair. Once, she had been so lovely. Soft blond curls falling around her perfect face, blue eyes staring up to meet his gaze.

No. Even in death, with blood caressing her pale skin, she was still beautiful.


End file.
